It's All Just Temporary
by RoseHasThorns
Summary: Bishop counts down the days


Bishop knows deep down Goren will never accept her as anything more than an invisible body, a shadow following him around, pretending to be somebody she is not. It's like she's playing a part in a really important movie but she's been miscast and it sticks out like a sore thumb. She feels as if everybody can notice it, the icy wind which forever surrounds her and leaves her feeling depressed and unwanted. Eames is a ghost, a presence which makes its self known in every room, in every case. She's in Goren's eyes, and, most importantly, in his heart. And there's no way Bishop is going to be able to knock it out of there, so she's not going to get her hopes up. All she's doing is working her ass off, hoping maybe for a pat on a back, at least a smile. That's if she's lucky, that's on the good days.  
  
But lately things have been getting worse, and Bishop knows it's because Eames has stopped popping into work and has dedicated her time to the baby. Goren doesn't get to talk to her as much, he misses her and it shows. The disappointment, the sadness is tangible. It's in the air, suffocating her, drenching him like cologne. When he turns to her and asks her a question, when he goes off on his rants and then looks at her for her input, she doesn't know what to say. They never taught her any of this in school. And then the look on his fact after her words, her useless words, is heartbreaking because she knows exactly what he is thinking:  
  
I wish Eames was here.  
  
And Bishop hates Eames. Just a bit. Just as much as you could hate somebody you've never REALLY met. Because even though she's not here, not physically anyway, she's ruined it for everybody who will come after her. If Goren ever needs another partner, if the world cracks open and for some incomprehensible reason Eames leaves for good, well, Bishop pities the next person in line. Because they will NEVER fit, not like Eames and Goren fit. And they will forever be haunted by that.  
  
One day she hears the Captain talking to Goren:  
  
"Look, I know you miss her, we all do, but you have to try and be nice. Take the girl out for lunch or something, at least act like she's your partner."  
  
And several minutes later Goren is there beside her, and it's so awkward because she knows this is the last thing he wants, and he's being forced.  
  
"So, uh, you hungry?" And she imagines herself saying no, walking away, out of this stupid office and out of this constant cloud of misery. She imagines shouting out all the ways he hurt her, that she knows she's not Eames, she knows she never will be, but Jesus can't he give her a break?  
  
"Sure," She says softly and she rises slowly, just to prove that she isn't overly excited, not a dog striving for attention, like this is an ordinary, everyday thing two partners do.  
  
Soon this painful period will be over; Eames will be back, the world will return to its normal state. She doesn't know where she'll be. But she hopes Alex will wake up, will realize how much Goren cares for her. Bishop doesn't know if she is the only one who sees it, probably not. In a department full of detectives somebody must have noticed, maybe it's an office joke, something they discuss around the water cooler.  
  
Goren loves Eames. Really, truly, with all his heart. Bishop predicts Eames feels the same way and they both just haven't realized. They're still giving each other awkward smiles, quick hugs, snappy banter, hiding, racing in circles trying to avoid the big issue which is slowly becoming larger and larger, a rumbling mess of emotions.  
  
Goren comes into the room, eyes red and puffy from lack of sleep, shuffling papers in his hands.  
  
"You should go home, you look exhausted," The body nods, wipes his eyes. "You did great today." Bishop adds quickly, not looking up, staring at the files in front of her.  
  
"Yeah, I'll just put these away," Goren says, ignoring her remark, tossing it casually into the waste bin beside his desk. He opens a drawer, shoves the papers in and pauses, cocks his head to the side. Bishop has learned this is his way of communicating that a sudden idea has sprouted in his mind. She looks up expectantly, is surprised to see a small smile on his face. "Thanks." She returns the smile and then quickly casts her eyes back down onto the work in front of her. Be cautious, don't look thrilled. Wait 'till you get home to celebrate.  
  
Pretty soon his light flicks off and with a soft goodbye he's out of the building. When it's her time to leave she gets up and notices his drawer slightly ajar. Peering inside she sees a small Polaroid, a simple shot of Eames in front of a tree, grinning from ear to ear. The photograph is worn and smudged with fingertips.  
  
"You're so lucky." Bishop says softly, gazing into the eyes of the woman in the picture. And she swears she can here, softly from somewhere in the room, Eames's voice:  
  
"I know." 


End file.
